


O Mare E Tu

by hysteriadreams



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, Belldom - Freeform, Heartache, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysteriadreams/pseuds/hysteriadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. How does it all end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Mare E Tu

 

It’s a silent night in Lisbon.

 

The birds have stopped singing, the couples have long since gone, and the only sounds that remain are those of the endless, black sea. I watch the waves crash into rocks by the shore, see how they splash around with grand, thunderous sounds, then retreat into the ocean, only to come up again moments later. It’s a repeating game of hide-and-seek, in a way—never lingering for too long and appearing only when the tide is high, when it’s most convenient.

 

That’s how lovers are sometimes.

 

They might love you for a day or two, a month, maybe even for years, yet there’s always a moment when their sentiments drift off someplace else, when their affection is no longer directed at you. Most of the time those feelings come back, and they’re left making excuses to convince you they never strayed. You notice it but you keep silent. In a world of lies and deception, how is one ever sure of true, honest love?

 

If anyone finds an answer to that, let me know.

 

Truth is, nobody is ever really sure of anything, much less of love. That’s a painful concept to grasp for most. Yet in my case, I was always sure. I was always sure that I loved you, that I wanted you, that I _craved_ you. I never doubted it before and I don’t doubt it now. However, so much has changed between us since I first stumbled into your life. So much has happened in ten years’ time, yet my affection remains the same.

 

My love has never waned, but you know this.

 

The one that changed was you. Ambition had always been your weakness, but _I_ knew this. I never thought much about it, but I should’ve. I should have done many things, but when you’re young and in love, you’re foolish. You forget about things like heartbreak and disappointment because your naive self thinks you’re invincible, _indestructible_. We're not, we never are.

 

The signs were all there, but your love wasn’t.

 

_Your love wasn’t._

 

I take one last drag of my cigarette and stand up, discarding it in the sea afterwards and watching it disappear beneath murky waters. I light another. You always hated when I smoked. “It ruins your lungs, love,” you’d remind me, “don’t you want to live forever?” And my response was always, “With you, yes,” but I never stopped.

 

And I don’t see the point in forever anymore, not without you.

 

But who knows, maybe five, ten, fifteen years from now we’ll meet again by chance at a coffeehouse, you on your way to the hospital and me doing some last-minute editing on a groundbreaking article, and you’ll remember all this. Maybe you won’t (you probably won’t). And who knows, maybe you’ll have a wife and kids; maybe you’ll be happy. Maybe you won’t. Either way, regardless of anything, I’ll remember how you made me feel, today and all the days after, and all those days before. I don’t ever want to forget. You most likely will—you most likely _have_ —but I want you to know that it is okay.

 

It's always okay with you Dominic, however hard I try to change that.

 

I start to walk, watching as my feet create dents in the pale sand on my way back to the city's nightlife. You always loved Lisbon. “We’ll marry right here, in a beautiful ceremony by the sea. Wouldn’t you love that, Matt? This is where we’ll start our lives together,” you promised me one day, years before, with an easy smile and an open heart and I believed you. Back then, I believed in you completely.

 

I guess that’s _my_ weakness, isn’t it.

 

Too trusting. I trusted you even when you were slipping between my fingers, even when you were almost completely gone; but I was happy, because I didn’t see it. I never saw the women you fucked on countless nights. I never grew suspicious because you were a doctor, and _a doctor works long hours, love, sorry._

 

But I see it now. I see how you would come home at two in the morning and go straight to the bathroom for a shower. Even when I would lay awake waiting for you, you’d never let me go near you. You were just washing the smell of sex and guilt off your skin, weren’t you, baby. At least for my sake, I hope you had the decency to feel guilty every time you came home late and would fuck me afterwards, as if I was a second-rate version of your prostitutes.

 

You fucked women because, as you came to tell me many times, “I’m not gay, Matt. Not technically.”

 

That should have been the first red flag, except it wasn’t.

 

Twenty minutes later, I arrive at Lisbon’s nightlife hotspot, Bairro Alto. The streets are crowded, the music is loud, and the drinks are cheap. As of right now, it’s a match. I step into the nearest bar and order a Ginjinha on the rocks, ready to let alcohol engulf my mind and numb me in all the right places, so I can forget, at least for a while.

 

However, moments later I’m pushed up against the wall of a stall, a tall Brazilian named Gustavo (or Inácio?) between my legs and he’s got me moaning like a whore. At this moment, I’m not much different from the ones you’ve fucked. Baby, if you could see me now, you’d _love_ me—pushed up against the wall with my cock being sucked by a stranger, you’d _live_ for this moment. I know far too well, you were never fond of sharing.

 

A few minutes later, I feel myself climaxing, reaching that point of complete ecstasy and I cry out, “ _Fuck!_ Gustavo. . ." I feel my whole body shuddering, tingling and succumbing.

 

I open my eyes in time to see a hand slap me in the face and an angry _“It’s Francisco, imbecil!”_ hissed in my ear. With that, the fucker leaves, leaving me with a red cheek, a hard cock, and an empty stall.

 

I really should get better at this. I let out a frustrated sigh and zip up my pants carefully, trying to conceal the obvious, and walk out into the bar again. I pay the bartender his money and head out, deciding that I don’t want to get laid. Not this night, at least. I can’t risk the other cheek.

 

I glance at a cab parked on one of the streets and head in its direction, but turn back as I remember that our flat is only a couple blocks away. _“_ We got lucky with that apartment,” you would always say. “A seaside view is never a bad thing,” I would reply.

 

The walk is short, but for once I don’t want it to be. I want to keep walking, wondering which unexpected direction my legs could take me, but I don’t bring myself to do it. One day, perhaps.

 

When I reach the front door, unlock it and step inside, I notice it’s lacking your presence, like it has been for the past few months. I’ve tried to get used to the feeling of loneliness, but everything keeps coming back to you. Too often, I find myself craving your touches, your kisses, and the passion you once had for me.

 

It’s all to no avail, of course. You’re long gone but I still find myself hoping, wanting, _waiting_.

 

I wish I could press against you, forehead to forehead, and tell you with closed eyes and a willing heart that I want you forever. That I want you beside me with your body tightly against mine, with your hands knotted in my hair, with your tongue deep inside my mouth. That the stubborn part of me wants none of you and all of you at the same time.

 

But I can’t. We don’t belong to each other anymore.

 

The story of our broken love is evident among the skin we wear and I can’t pretend otherwise any longer. That night you left so quickly, so rashly, so _easily._ It ripped me apart and it left me empty. Lifeless. Useless.

 

_Sem amor._

 

And that night I ran after you, crying, _begging_ you to stay like a son begs his father at the door. Like how I begged _my_ father to stay, all those years before. I chased you through streets, but eventually lost you between night-goers and you managed to escape amongst the crowd. Maybe I should’ve known how it was going to end—no one ever stays.

 

That night you told me you hated Portugal.

 

Maybe that’s why I stayed.

 

So I went back to our apartment, which was now only mine, and cried some more. I drowned myself in sweet wine that night, yet I was reminded that you tasted sweeter, so I stopped. I smashed your drum kit, the only thing you didn’t take, and smoked half a pack of those cigarettes you so hated. I looked out the window of our bedroom, hoping I would see you running back to me, to our home, to our life together. After all that had happened, I still had hope. I still trusted you to come back, I still trusted the fact that you loved me once and could love me again.

 

But that night all I saw was the sea.

 

And not you.

  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> * _Sem amor_ = without love


End file.
